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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22761985">who would win: the metropolitan police service or one bisexual icon</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceruleancats/pseuds/ceruleancats'>ceruleancats</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Comedy, Gen, Humor, No beta we die like archival assistants, in writing this i remembered how much of an asshole jon was in s1 like damn, probably unrealistic depiction of police in the uk bc i'm american and also haven't been arrested, set during s1 because i needed to write s1 tim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 11:55:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,392</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22761985</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceruleancats/pseuds/ceruleancats</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A nighttime investigation of the house at Hill Top Road goes awry. Tim saves the day in a manner that involves considerably more sultry winks than your typical rescue mission.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jonathan Sims &amp; Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood &amp; Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood &amp; Sasha James &amp; Jonathan Sims &amp; Tim Stoker, Sasha James &amp; Jonathan Sims</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>90</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>who would win: the metropolitan police service or one bisexual icon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>writing season 1 tim watered my crops, cured my depression, fixed my grades, etc. also I'm sorry if the police interactions are very unrealistic -- i have no idea if you get a phone call when you're arrested in the UK, but i kinda just rolled with it so here we are. lastly, please leave your Tim Stoker appreciation in the comments if you feel so inclined ;)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The phone was ringing. Naturally. If Jon were more inclined to believe in the supernatural (or at least more inclined to refrain from burying that belief under an extremely large heap of denial), he might even say that the phone in his office was cursed to ring at the most inconvenient times possible, usually, as in this case, while he was in the middle of recording a statement. </p>
<p>Jon heaved an irritated sigh and stabbed at the pause button on his recorder, picking up the phone with his other hand. </p>
<p>“Magnus Institute, Head Archivist speaking.”</p>
<p>Sasha’s frightened voice hissed through the phone, fuzzy with static. “Jon,” she whispered furiously, “we’re at Hill Top Road, I think there’s something in here with us—” A sudden high-pitched scream cut her off, one that sounded rather like Martin’s reaction to Tim’s most recent attempt to spice things up around the office by hiding around corners and jumping out at anyone who had the misfortune to walk past. </p>
<p>“Sasha, what’s happening?” Jon went to say, but before he could the line clattered loudly like Sasha’s phone had fallen, and the call cut off. Jon sat and listened to the dial phone for a few moments, while he tried to process the last fifteen seconds. He had sent Sasha and Martin off to investigate the house on Hill Top Road after Ivo Lensik’s statement, perhaps more to get Martin out of the Archives than any actual interest in an investigation of the house (schizophrenia and head trauma were undoubtedly the most rational explanation for the events that had supposedly occurred there, Jon reminded himself, although that was seeming slightly more flimsy in the face of that scream). So, the most logical course of action here: call Sasha back and verify that the two of them were fine, which they probably were. Likely Martin had heard branches scratching on the window outside or the like and blown it out of proportion, though of course Sasha was much more level-headed… </p>
<p>Jon dialed Sasha’s number, got voicemail. Right. Hm. He didn’t have Martin’s phone number, of course, and while he privately thought it wouldn’t really be the end of the world if Martin got picked off by an evil tree ghost, Sasha was a very skilled researcher, one Jon would rather not lose. He could call the police for them, but as the investigation of an abandoned house was <i>technically</i> trespassing, that was unfortunately not an option. He peeked outside his office to check if he could maybe he could delegate this mess to Tim, but all the lights in the main Archives room were off. Jon stared into the darkness in confusion for a moment before he had the presence of mind to check his watch. Half past 11pm. Ah. Time for a moonlit excursion to the spooky—er, completely normal—abandoned house.</p>
<p>—</p>
<p>Jon stared up at the looming silhouette of the Hill Top Road house, roof stained silver by the moonlight filtering through the cloudy night sky. So perhaps it was a bit more intimidating up close. He adjusted his grip on the pocketknife he’d stolen—er, borrowed—from Martin’s desk drawer and moved closer to inspect the chain link fence that was likely supposed to prevent people from doing the exact activity he was now engaged in. Ha, as if something as simple as a fence would stop the investigative power of the Magnus Institute. </p>
<p>After a minute or so, Jon found the place where Martin and Sasha had cut through the chain link and slipped through. The front door of the house was open a crack, and he pushed it the rest of the way carefully, turning on his phone’s flashlight to illuminate the dark interior. There were two sets of footprints in the thick layer of dust coating the floor, clearly belonging to Martin and Sasha, and Jon followed them into the entryway, plumes of dust swirling around his ankles with each step. </p>
<p>Jon tracked the rest of the dusty trail to where it ended in front of what looked like stairs to the basement. He shone the light down the stairs, pocketknife clutched readily (if ineffectively) in his other hand, but there was nothing there, only a shroud of darkness thick enough to swallow all but the first few steps. </p>
<p>“Sasha?” he called out hesitantly. “Martin?”</p>
<p>“Jon?” he heard back faintly from somewhere within the blackness, from what sounded like Sasha, and felt a rush of relief, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. </p>
<p>“Yes, it’s Jon. I’m up here. What are you doing in a pitch black basement?”</p>
<p>Steps thumped on the stairs for a minute (during which Jon pocketed the now unnecessary pocketknife — probably best not to let Martin know Jon had been going through his desk) before Sasha and Martin emerged from the darkness, both looking unharmed and faintly embarrassed. “...Hi, Jon,” said Martin, in his usual awkward manner. </p>
<p>Jon raised an eyebrow at them, his relief transforming into irritation as he realized them being fine meant he had made a trip here for virtually no reason. “So, what exactly was ‘in here with you?’” he asked dryly, in a slightly sharper tone than was perhaps warranted.</p>
<p>Sasha and Martin shared a glance. Martin wrung his hands nervously and made a valiant if unsuccessful attempt at a conciliatory smile. “Well, that is, we were in the basement, investigating like you said to, and, er, there were some—noises, and so we thought that, erm, there was something there, so we went to investigate and it sort of jumped out at us…” He trailed off and looked plaintively at Sasha, who was staring very intently at the floor as if it would somehow excuse her from being a participant in this conversation. </p>
<p>“<i>What</i> jumped out at you, Martin?” Jon snapped, rapidly losing patience with this meandering attempt at an explanation (a very common occurrence in any kind of conversation with Martin). </p>
<p>“...A cat,” said Martin, blushing enough that it was obvious even in the faint light of Jon’s phone flashlight. </p>
<p>Jon barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He’d abandoned reading a statement and made the whole trip here in the middle of the night for this? Really? </p>
<p>“And you decided not to call me back and explain this because…?” </p>
<p>“Ah, well, I dropped my phone when it happened and it shattered,” Sasha said, holding it up sadly. “And, well, we tried calling back at the office with Martin’s but you didn’t pick up, so you must have already left. And Martin doesn’t have your cell number.”</p>
<p>“Yes, that’s on purpose,” said Jon matter-of-factly, ignoring the way Martin’s blush deepened. </p>
<p>“Right,” said Sasha slowly. “Well, after the cat, we explored some more, but there’s really nothing notable in this house unless you consider a possibly supernatural amount of dust interesting.”</p>
<p>“I do not," Jon said, attempting to infuse his tone with enough disgust and disdain to properly convey how much of an inconvenience and waste of time this whole night had been for him.</p>
<p>“Then we’re in agreement,” Sasha said, with slightly forced cheer. “I, for one, would like to get out of here and into my bed, seeing as it’s probably tomorrow already.”</p>
<p>Jon heartily agreed and said as much. If they left now, he could get an entirely respectable five hours of sleep before returning to the Institute.</p>
<p>—</p>
<p>Jon was not going to get an entirely respectable five hours of sleep before returning to the Institute. </p>
<p>As soon as he, Sasha, and Martin had exited the house, they had been instantly blinded by the beam of a police officer’s flashlight directly to the eyes. Jon, a rational man, had directed a furious internal tirade at his office phone, whose cursed nature had clearly infected him somehow. That had occupied him for the duration of the ride to the station and made him feel slightly better, but now, sitting in the holding cell sandwiched between his two archival assistants, he was exercising every last scrap of his self control to keep himself from verbally eviscerating them. </p>
<p>“So….” Martin piped up suddenly, before wilting under the venomous strength of Jon’s glare. “I—er, was just going to say that maybe we should use our phone call to get ahold of Tim,” he mumbled. “Since, y’know, he’s been pretty good at dealing with police in the past.” </p>
<p>Unfortunately, this was actually not the worst idea. God only knew how many police officers Tim had dealt with (through seduction or otherwise) in the name of various Institute investigations. </p>
<p>“Oh, you’re right!” said Sasha, perking up from where she’d been staring blankly at the wall of the cell. “If anyone can get us out of here, it’s Tim. Last I heard, his count of successfully seduced government officials was well into the dozens.”</p>
<p>Jon blinked. Opened his mouth, thought better of it, and closed it. He nodded in mute agreement. (And if he was being honest with himself, a rarer phenomenon than he’d like to admit, he was actually a little impressed.)</p>
<p>—</p>
<p>The three of them crowded around the phone as it rang, once, twice, several more times. After a good twenty seconds, during which Jon had begun to seriously consider the completely rational prospect of spending life in jail for trespassing, the ringing stopped and Tim’s voice came muzzily through the speaker.</p>
<p>“Who the fuck is this?” he began eloquently, sounding more asleep than awake. “It’s goddamn...2:17 in the morning. Don’t fucking call me. Bye.”</p>
<p>“WAIT!” Sasha said quickly, before Tim could hang up. “Tim, it’s us!”</p>
<p>The line was silent for several seconds, presumably as Tim processed this.</p>
<p>“...Sasha?” he said, sounding utterly bemused.</p>
<p>“Yes, it’s me and Martin and Jon. It’s a bit of a long story really, but, er, we were investigating Hill Top Road for Jon tonight and got...scared and called Jon, and then he came to find us, and we sort of got arrested for trespassing. Please help us?” </p>
<p>“Are you kidding me.”</p>
<p>“Unfortunately not,” said Jon, deciding this was as good a time as any to jump into the conversation. “We would very much appreciate your assistance, as I have heard you have some...experience dealing with police officers.”</p>
<p>“That’s one way to put it,” Tim said, impressively lecherously for his current state of wakefulness. </p>
<p>“So is that a yes?” Martin chimed in hopefully. </p>
<p>“Hmmmm, I don’t know,” Tim said slowly. “It is the middle of the night… Maybe if someone had something to offer me, you know, an incentive of some kind…”</p>
<p>“I’ll cover Friday drinks for the next month,” Sasha said, to her credit sounding only slightly desperate. </p>
<p>“Oh Sasha, you shouldn’t have! I’m always happy to help friends in need. Give me 10,” Tim said cheerfully. “Oh, what police station did you say you were at?”</p>
<p>Jon told him.</p>
<p>“...Make that an hour.”</p>
<p>— </p>
<p>At approximately 3:36am, according to Jon’s watch, after many minutes of staring silently out across the station and sharply rebuffing more than one tentative attempt at conversation from Martin, he finally spotted Tim opening the door to the station (<i>several</i> minutes late). Jon nudged Sasha, who had begun nodding off a while ago, and pointed silently at where Tim was surveying the station.</p>
<p>Tim finally noticed the holding cell and caught Jon’s eye through the bars, before giving him a knowing nod, whatever that was meant to convey. As Jon watched, Tim deftly undid the top few buttons on his shirt, mussed up his hair, and then saluted him with a roguish grin. As Tim strode off out of view of the cell, presumably towards one of the officers, Jon tried valiantly not to think about all that could possibly go wrong with putting his fate in the hands of someone only motivated to help him for the free drinks. </p>
<p>Jon stewed in his anxiety for several minutes, while Martin murmured platitudes about how he was “sure Tim would come through” and other pointless drivel, while Sasha mumbled agreement (though it was possible that was sleeptalking, seeing as her eyes were closed). Finally, finally, one of the police officers approached the cell and cleared his throat, looking slightly pink. </p>
<p>“Excuse me,” he said without fanfare. “You are all free to go.” With that, he unlocked the door and held it open. </p>
<p>Jon got up hesitantly, not daring to believe it. Had Tim truly done it? </p>
<p>Beside him, Martin also rose from the cell’s bench. “Really? Are you sure?” he said dubiously. “I mean, thank you officer, we’ll be going now,” he continued rapidly, after a discreet jab from Jon’s elbow. </p>
<p>“Come along, Sasha,” Jon said, hoisting her limp, half-asleep form off the bench with considerable difficulty. </p>
<p>“Right…….yes, thank you, officer,” she said blearily, cracking one eye open.</p>
<p>Jon dipped his head to the man as they exited, half-dragging Sasha by the arm, Martin trailing after him like a lost puppy.</p>
<p>Tim met them at the door to the outside, grinning and proud as a peacock. </p>
<p>“Tim...what did you do?” Jon asked, with some trepidation. </p>
<p>Tim winked at him exaggeratedly. “I never kiss and tell,” he said, miming zipping his lips and flicking away the key. </p>
<p>Jon resisted the urge to groan loudly and instead foisted the still somnolent Sasha off onto Tim. “Well, as long as you aren’t using Institute funds for these—shenanigans.”</p>
<p>Tim looked vaguely guilty for a second before plastering on an even bigger smile. “Let’s not worry about that right now! Why don’t we all go home and get some shuteye!” He began to drag Sasha bodily out of the station, with infuriating ease. </p>
<p>As Jon and Martin followed him to his car, Tim called backwards over his shoulder at them with entirely too much cheer for the hour. “Hey, tomorrow’s Friday! Since Sasha owes me drinks, why don’t you two join us? I’ll convince her our deal includes covering you two.”</p>
<p>“Oh, er, sure, I would—erm, that would be lovely!” said Martin, as endearingly awkward—<i>annoyingly</i> awkward as usual. God, sleep deprivation really was getting to him. </p>
<p>Jon opened his mouth to refuse on reflex, but, well, maybe it was that pesky sleep deprivation talking, because what actually came out was, “Sure.” But honestly, after a night like this, a drink was sounding rather appealing.</p>
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